Onyx (Hounds of Hellfire MC #7)

Chapter 1

ELENA

Even from outside, I could hear the faint buzz of tattoo machines layered beneath low voices and music. I paused on the sidewalk longer than necessary, my sketch portfolio tucked against my chest.

Hellbound Studio wasn’t a walk-in shop. The Hounds of Hellfire MC owned it. Actually, they owned most of Riverstone, GA, where I currently lived.

They didn’t advertise for customers because they didn’t need to.

The chairs were never empty. And open spots for artists were filled by word of mouth.

I was beyond lucky to have met Ink and Annika DeLuca at a showing at Belladonna Gallery, the largest art gallery in Atlanta.

The art hadn’t been a style I enjoyed much.

Abstract expressionism that relied on chaos without order beneath it all had never been my thing.

But striking up a conversation with Ink and his wife had made the time spent there more than worthwhile.

It had taken all of my courage to mention that I was interested in an apprenticeship at a tattoo parlor, much to my mentor’s chagrin.

Jareth Marks was a huge deal in the Atlanta art scene, but while he was interested in tattoos, he had no experience with them himself.

My only option for getting the kind of expert guidance I needed was to look elsewhere.

And Hellbound Studio was the best place to learn.

Plus, it didn’t hurt that my apartment was in Riverstone, where they were located.

“You can do this,” I mumbled, my stomach fluttering with nerves.

I’d wanted this for too long to let fear win now, so I pasted on a confident smile I wasn’t feeling as I pushed the door open. I stepped into a world that fascinated me and found Ink waiting at the reception area.

He looked up the moment I stepped inside and chuckled. “Do you carry that sketchbook with you everywhere?”

Heat crept up my neck. “I—yeah. Pretty much.”

I shifted my grip, suddenly hyperaware of how out of place it must have looked at the exhibition at Belladonna Gallery.

My parents would’ve hated that I’d brought it there.

They’d always believed in dressing appropriately for every occasion, and a worn sketchbook didn’t fit their idea of respectable.

They’d actually been supportive of my passion for art in the beginning, until I took it in a direction they didn’t approve of.

No matter how intricate and beautiful, a daughter who was a tattoo artist would never fit with their image.

So their disappointment wasn’t exactly new.

My mentor, Jareth, at least, had understood why I liked having my sketchbook close. Inspiration didn’t wait for convenient moments. And even with a memory that never failed me, I still preferred to get ideas down while they were fresh.

“I guess it paid off, though.” My smile was self-conscious. “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t had it with me that night.”

He snorted. “You’re here because your art is fucking unreal. That sketchbook just made it obvious.”

“Thanks.” My blush deepened. “That means a lot coming from you.”

“Not sure why you look so surprised. You already earned your spot in that program you’re in.” He gestured around the studio. “This is just the next step if you want to take your art to the next level.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond. Compliments still caught me off guard.

Teachers had noticed my talent early, but no one ever quite knew what to do with it.

Or how to explain it to my parents. They’d understood why I’d chosen a specialized art program over a traditional college, but transitioning to the human body as a canvas baffled them completely.

It was putting a strain on our relationship that I wasn’t sure how to bridge.

“I definitely am.”

He stepped out from behind the counter, gesturing for me to follow. “Good. You wouldn’t last here long if you weren’t.”

As we walked, I took everything in. The steady buzz of machines blended into a rhythm that felt almost meditative. Sessions were done behind closed doors to maintain client privacy, but Ink opened a few so I could meet some of the artists.

The first guy barely glanced up from his station but offered a quick nod. The next grinned like he meant it. With Ink showing me around, no one questioned whether I belonged. The interactions were brief but easy. And somewhere along the way, the tightness in my shoulders eased.

We stopped near one of the open booths, and Ink turned back to me.

“I want to evaluate your skill level on fake skin first. Get a sense of where you need improvement and techniques you haven’t learned.

When I’m confident you can handle a giant, grumpy-ass biker, you’ll work on a client with supervision.

Even after you're on your own, if you run into a stumbling block or they request something you don’t know how to do, no one will mind if you ask for help.

We all want you to succeed.” He shot me a crooked smile.

“We have a badass reputation to uphold.”

He went over the hours and expectations, which aligned with what I’d understood coming in. As he spoke, I nodded, committing every word to memory. This was what I’d worked toward. The nerves were still there, but they’d settled into something steadier now.

I felt him before I saw him, heat pooling low in my belly without warning. The air felt like it shifted, and I stilled, my breath catching as my body reacted ahead of my brain.

I turned and stared at the man who stood a few feet away, his presence filling the space without effort.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, built solid without being bulky.

A black T-shirt clung to his torso beneath a leather vest, the sleeves stretched tight over muscular arms with black ink visible on his wrists and neck.

Heavy blackwork that had been expertly layered.

My gaze dropped before I could stop it, catching on his scarred knuckles.

Desire flared stronger in my core as I wondered how his hands would feel on my skin.

But the picture in my head had nothing to do with him giving me a tattoo.

It was unexpectedly erotic for a girl who’d only had a peck of a kiss before.

It was a good thing I had an artistic eye because I was still able to take in the rest of him. His dark hair was cut short, and his eyes were a rich, dark brown. When they met mine, it seemed as though the world narrowed to that single point of connection.

He assessed me with a stillness that made my pulse race. The silence stretched between us too long to be polite. My skin prickled under his attention, awareness humming through me.

I wondered what was hidden beneath the long sleeves and leather. How many tattoos did he have that I couldn’t see? What stories lived there, inked into his tanned skin?

Ink cleared his throat beside me, breaking the moment.

I sucked in a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

There was no explanation I could think of for the regret I felt when I tore my gaze away from the man.

My fingers itched to sketch the hard lines of his face, and I was grateful my memory was good enough to let me do it later. Alone.

The man finally spoke. “Onyx.”

I nodded, my pulse still racing. “Elena.”

Before I could gather myself enough to say anything else, he shifted his weight and glanced toward Ink. “The new apprentice?”

Ink nodded. “Yeah, the one we talked about last week.”

Onyx turned toward me again, a gleam in his dark eyes that I didn’t understand. “I’ll take her.”

Ink’s brows lifted a fraction, and his mouth twitched like he was holding back a smile. He studied Onyx for a beat longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between them. Then he drawled, “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“I—sorry?” My gaze darted back and forth between them. This wasn’t what we’d discussed. “I thought I was supposed to be working under you, Ink.”

“You will,” Ink replied, waving off my concern.

“Just not exclusively. Onyx handles blackwork and structure-heavy designs. It’ll be good for your foundation as we teach you new techniques.

And he manages the place, so you’ll have better access to anything you need, with the bonus of learning the business side in case you ever find yourself looking to open your own studio. ”

It sounded reasonable. Logical, even. Except that Onyx’s dark gaze was unreadable, and Ink watched my reaction with open curiosity.

The corner of his mouth was still tipped up, as though he knew something I didn’t.

They seemed to be having an entirely different conversation, one that didn’t include me or require words.

“Okay,” I finally agreed.

My stomach fluttered when I agreed, and I couldn’t explain it. Only that some part of me was already leaning toward Onyx in a way I’d never experienced before.

I told myself it made sense. Onyx was an expert, and Ink trusted him. Apprenticing with the manager would give me deeper access to how Hellbound Studio really worked.

Onyx simply shifted closer, and his gaze caught mine again. The moment stretched, heavy with something unnamed.

Ink broke the silence, turning away. “I’ll let you two get acquainted.”